Cease Your Raging
by rebecca-in-blue
Summary: "Erik hasn't done this in a very long time." Set during First Class: Three times Charles and Erik saw each other cry. Three times they didn't. Not as sappy as it may sound.
1. In the Water

**Summary:** Three times Charles and Erik saw each other cry. Three times they didn't. (Don't worry, this story is - I hope - not as sappy as it might sound.) Set during _X-Men: First Class_, there will be tags to scenes in the movie as well as original scenes.

**Author's Note:** This fic grew out of the Bible verse below. I read it in Torah study class at my temple one day, and it seemed like a perfect description of the scene in _First Class_ where Charles and Erik meet for the first time.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>  
><strong>In the Water<strong>

_So they took up Jonah, and cast him forth into the sea, and the sea ceased from its raging._ - The Book of Jonah, 1:15

Charles is hurrying down the stairs when he first senses him, and it stops him so suddenly that he almost falls over. It makes his head hurt worse than a migraine to feel the emotions radiating off the strange, intense presence in the water - the blind, obsessive rage, the hatred clawing at him like a knife...

A pained gasp slips through Charles's lips as he raises his fingers to his temple. Moira asks him what's wrong, but her voice seems to come from very far away. "There's someone else out there..." Charles gets out, and he tries to send a message to the man in the water, to tell him to relax, to _please_ just calm down, but he can't get through to him. It makes no sense. He can usually communicate with people much further away than this. His anger flares, and he isn't sure if he's frustrated, or if the other man's all-consuming fury has spread to him.

Charles spins around, almost knocking Moira over on the narrow stairs, and runs full-speed back up to the deck.

The salty sea wind is fiercer now, blowing hard across the deck like it's angry at them. The man in the water... _Erik. _Charles suddenly knows that his name is Erik, and he's after Shaw -_ no, not Shaw... Schmidt, he knows him as Schmidt_. Charles can sense him much more clearly out here on deck. It's almost as if the metal of the ship was a barrier between their minds.

"There's someone else in the water!" Charles says, practically shouting to Moira to make himself heard over the wind. He runs to the railing of the ship and leans over it, the metal of the top bar pressing uncomfortably into his stomach. He should've noticed Erik's presence sooner. He had never felt so much rage, so much devastation, in a single person. It seemed more than anyone could bear.

Charles's eyes scan the rough sea for Erik, but he's nowhere to be seen. So he closes his eyes and searches for him with his mind, his telepathy sweeping over the dark water like the beam of a lighthouse. His head pounds again when he finds Erik, who's moving deeper and deeper underwater, so obsessed with stopping Schmidt that he barely notices the burning in his own lungs. God, it really _is_ too much to bear. The man's about to drown, and he doesn't even care. He's beneath their ship now, and soon he'll emerge from the other side. If Charles can just time this right...

Without pausing, without giving himself time to think_ Awfully long drop there _or _That water's bound to be cold _or _You've never been the best swimmer, Charles,_ he climbs the waist-high railing of the ship and flings himself overboard.

He couldn't stop to think, or else he would realize that this is the most foolish, most reckless thing he's ever done. He could hit his head on the ship, or get sucked down into the dark water, or drown in any number of ways - over a man he barely knows.

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><p>They come up coughing and sputtering and spitting out water. The damn fool still has his arms wrapped around Erik, but Erik shoves him away. It's all he can do to keep from strangling him, or holding him underwater until he stops struggling. He doesn't know whether he's angrier at this strange man for stopping him, or at himself for letting Schmidt get away.<p>

_Schmidt got away. You let him get away. Again!_ His entire adult life has been working towards this moment, towards this one ultimate goal, and after coming this close, he'd failed again. He let Schmidt get away, just like he did in the camps, all those years ago.

_I know what this means to you, Erik,_ the other man had said a moment ago when he dropped down on top of him, his body piercing through the raging sea like a spear, his quiet voice penetrating the angry fire burning inside Erik. _But please, you have to let it go._

How could this stranger possibly know what killing Schmidt meant to Erik? And yet, the sound of his calm voice inside his head reminded him of a verse from the Torah. _"And after the fire, a still, small voice..."_ The words came back to him easily, out of nowhere, catching him off-guard. Erik didn't know he still remembered that verse. He heard the rabbi read it in temple once, when he was a boy, before the Nazis set the temple on fire and burnt it to the ground.

Erik is so used to feeling angry constantly. When he gets dressed in the morning, he's angry. When he hails a taxi cab or changes his money over in a new country, he's angry. It's not strong and raging all the time, but every waking minute, it's there - a steady, low-burning fire inside him. His entire adult life, it's been there.

But now this strange man - Charles - is here in the water with him, telling him _I'm like you_ and _Calm your mind_. And somehow, he seems to be inside Erik's head too, and even though Erik is up to his neck in water, his mind is what feels flooded the most. Charles's voice is water itself, cool and still, trickling inside Erik, and the fire of anger that's been burning for so long begins to flicker and die down.

"You're not alone, Erik," Charles tells him. "You're not alone." And Erik blinks hard as he says it, because his eyes are burning, and it's not from the saltwater in them.

Waves from the ship cut through the water around them like cold knives. Erik gasps and spits out another mouthful of the salty water, trying to catch his breath, trying to stop crying. His tears are silent, but he can feel them stinging his eyes, and it's a strange, long-forgotten sensation, like something from another life. He hasn't cried in a very long time. Not since he was a child.

At the time, he was grateful that Charles pretended he wasn't crying. Later, he realized that with all the water around them, and the sharp waves slapping their faces, Charles hadn't noticed.

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><p>Well, that was the first chapter. I hope you'll leave a review if you liked it. There will be more to come!<p> 


	2. At the Hotel

Using the male pronoun is _so_ difficult in this story! I hope it isn't too confusing.

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>  
><strong>At the Hotel<strong>

_He who saves one life, saves the world entire._ - The Talmud

Sometimes, he has to check himself to make sure a big, ridiculous smile isn't spreading across his face. That probably means he's happy, but it's been so long since he last felt happy about anything - so long since he felt anything but anger, really - that he can't be sure. But every now and then, he feels himself smiling for no particular reason. And before he can wipe it off his face, Charles always notices and smiles back at him out of the corner of his eye.

_Well, no wonder, _Erik tells himself. _You must look a damned fool._

It's been several weeks since Charles first lowered Cerebro's bulky helmet over his head. He's mastered the machine by now, and he and Erik have been traveling around the country, spending the CIA's money, meeting new mutants, learning what they can do, winning their trust. Angel demonstrated her powers for them right away, but not all mutants are so easy to convince, so Charles and Erik develop a subtle, good-cop, bad-cop routine. Erik enjoys it more than he lets on. Staying at the CIA headquarters with Moira and Hank and all those humans in suits made him so uncomfortable. It felt too permanent, and there were too many people around. Being on the road feels like _home_. Suitcases and hotels and highways are the only life he's known for years, and even though he was by himself then, it feels better, now, to have Charles with him.

Erik loves every minute of it, but his favorite times are when he and Charles are in the car, on their way to find another mutant. They argue over where they should stop to eat and which radio station to listen to. They take turns driving and reading to each other from a book Charles has with him, about King Arthur and his knights. Sometimes Charles sleeps while Erik drives.

"What are you doing?" Erik asked, the first time Charles leaned back and propped his feet up on the dashboard, turning his head this way and that to find the most comfortable position.

"Taking a nap," Charles yawned. He closed his eyes, then opened one and looked at Erik. "Why? Can't find the way there without me?" he asked, and Erik glared at him for just a second, angry - until he realized Charles was teasing him. They had planned out this route beforehand, from the map that's spread open between them on the seat, and besides, the signs on the highway are perfectly clear. Of course he can find the way there. He followed Schmidt's trail across three continents.

So Erik just smirked and turned back to the highway. For a few hours, the dotted yellow line was his only company, darting at him again and again before it disappeared under the wheels. Charles was soon fast asleep, his head was lolled back against the headrest, his face peaceful. Erik kept glancing over at him and shaking his head slightly with disbelief.

It's one of the many things Charles does, and takes for granted, that Erik never does. Erik never naps during Charles's turn to drive. He probably couldn't do it if he tried. He can't sleep while he's moving. No matter how tired he might be, he can never sleep until he's safely behind locked doors and solid walls. He was awake for every minute of that ten-hour plane ride to Argentina.

Many years later, when Erik looked back at that time traveling around with Charles, he remembered it as the best time of his life. Over the years, all their trips ran together in Erik's memory - except one.

The girl was only seventeen, working as a waitress in some greasy-spoon diner in a small, sad little coal-mining town in rural Pennsylvania. As soon as Charles senses her through Cerebro, he throws the helmet off, grabs Erik by the arm, and runs full-speed outside to the car, dragging Erik with him. "We don't have time to pack!" Charles snaps as soon as Erik opens his mouth to say something. "We have to find her now!" Erik at least manages to grab his wallet, which happens to have enough of the CIA's money to last them a few days, on their way out.

Erik never understands exactly what this girl's power is. Charles tries to explain it to him on the drive there. "She's a telepath, like me, except with objects instead of people." Whatever _that_ could mean. "At first, she thought it was just her imagination, but now, she thinks she's going crazy." Charles honks the horn, then swerves suddenly, passing up the car in front of them on the highway. "She's scared, Erik," he adds in a low voice. "She doesn't understand what's happening to her."

Erik shifts uncomfortably in the passenger seat. It's unnerving to see Charles like this, frantic and high-strung, when he's usually so calm. Erik feels like he should say something - tell Charles not to worry, tell him that she'll be all right - but... he's no good at that sort of thing. He has no experience in comforting people. The drive to Pennsylvania is painfully long. Charles grows more and more tense the closer they get.

They find the girl on the highway, just outside the small town where she lives. "No... please, no..." Charles whispers, slowing to a stop as their car approaches the scene. He and Erik both lean forward in their seats for a better look. Charles grips the steering wheel tightly in his sweaty hands, and Erik's stomach clenches up in knots. It's a strange sensation. His stomach hasn't done that in a long time - not since he was a child.

There are two police cars, their siren lights casting blue and red tints across the faces of the small crowd that's gathered. The blood pooled on the dirty asphalt looks more brown than red. The sun is setting behind the trees, and the whole scene is made even darker by the long shadow of the huge 18-wheeler truck parked on the side of the highway - the one that the scared young mutant girl threw herself in front of.

For what feels like an eternity, the two of them sit there, staring. Then Erik hears a low, quiet sob beside him, tears his eyes away from the ruin in front of him, and looks over at Charles. The expression on his face is all the convincing he needs. Erik raises his hand and gently pushes the car off the highway, climbs out, and walks around to the driver's side. Charles numbly, silently scoots across the seat so that Erik can get in behind the wheel.

Driving into the sunset is difficult, even after Erik pulls his sunglasses out of his jacket pocket, but he can't turn the car around and head back to Washington. They're not driving back there tonight, not with Charles in this state. He turns away from Erik, staring resolutely out the window with his chin in his hand, but tears are streaming silently down his cheeks every time Erik glances over at the passenger side.

Twenty minutes later, he exits at the first hotel he sees. It isn't set back far from the highway and resembles a giant cinderblock, sitting there in the shadeless, gray cement sea of the parking lot. The curtains in the windows look like they date back to the 1940s. But the rooms are cheap, and Erik has enough cash on him to book them one for the night. Charles doesn't object. Neither of them have said a word since Charles leaned over the steering wheel at the scene of the accident, whispering, pleading. _Please, no_.

He parks, and Charles walks in front of him from the car to their room. Erik watches him closely from behind - his shoulder blades tense beneath his shirt, the small, dark stain of sweat at the small of his back. Erik can tell he's tired from the long drive and from - what happened. Erik can tell he feels guilty. Guilt is one of Erik's oldest friends.

Their hotel room is small and smells of stale cigarettes and must. Erik waves a hand to shut the door behind them, then examines the locks on it. That's always the first thing he does before he lets himself get comfortable anywhere. He tests the locks on the door. This one has a deadbolt at handle-level and a chain and peephole at eye-level.

As he turns back around, Charles numbly, silently sits down on the edge of one of the two single beds. Erik, uncertain of what he should do now, is pulling off his jacket when he hears him say, "I should've sensed her sooner." His voice is hoarse and flat. Erik has never heard Charles's voice sound that way before. "Through Cerebro. If I had gotten to her just a little bit sooner..."

Erik slowly walks over to the bed. He remembers how Charles jumped off the ship to pull him out of the water. He would've done the same thing for this girl, if only they had gotten to her in time - grab her and drag out of the path of the 18-wheeler. Erik wonders, vaguely, what it feels like to be so selfless, willing to put yourself in such danger to save others. Doesn't Charles find it exhausting? Erik can't imagine it. He's looked after nobody but himself for so long now.

Charles leans forward, his elbows digging into his knees, and runs one tense hand through his hair. "I could tell when I touched her mind that she was thinking about doing something... drastic. If - God, if I had just found her even one day sooner..."

Erik sighs as he gingerly sits down next to Charles. He had learned long ago not to wonder _what if_, not to imagine how life could've been different or better. Charles, apparently, never had. Outside, the cars roar by on the highway; the noise comes in clearly through the walls.

"It wasn't your fault, Charles," he says carefully, because it seems like the right thing to say. But Charles's blank expression doesn't change. So he searches for something more meaningful. "What happened was..." Erik pauses, searching for the right word. Moments like this make him painfully aware that English isn't his first language. "...tragic, but it wasn't your fault. Ultimately, it was her decision. I mean, there have been times when I wanted to k -"

Erik chokes down the word, but it's already too late. He's already said too much. Charles knows what he meant, and his blue eyes widen slightly with horror or concern or pity. Erik doesn't know want to know which, and he turns sharply away from Charles and lowers his eyes, ashamed. He can't believe how close he came to actually _saying_ it. He's never told anybody. Never.

He's thought about suicide a lot over the years. More than was healthy, he was sure. It would be so easy for him to take the small metal blades out of a razor and sink them into his wrists. He's imagined the weight of a gun as he raises it to his head without touching it, feeling the cool metal ring of the barrel against his temple, then feeling... nothing. No more pain or anger or thirst for revenge. Sometimes the idea was so tempting that Erik had to pull the coin out of his pocket and squeeze it in his fist, as a reminder. _Herr doktor. You have to stay alive so you can find Schmidt. You have to show him you can move this coin. You have to kill him._

Sometimes, it's still tempting. But now, when he's searching for a reason not to, he thinks of Charles. Not Schmidt. If Charles is beating himself up this badly over a girl he barely knew, Erik can't imagine how he would fall apart if -

_There have been times when you wanted to kill yourself?_ Charles asks gently. His voice is inside Erik's head again, like it was that night in the water.

_Yes._ He thinks the word loudly, which is easier than saying it, and his eyes stay focused on the cheap vinyl curtains hanging across the window. It's easier than looking at Charles.

Charles moves across the bed, scootching closer to Erik. The old metal bedframe beneath them creaks loudly, then stops. Erik didn't realize he was doing that. He takes a deep breath and goes on, "I never did it. Obviously. But..." Then his voice trails off, uncertain of what to say next, but it doesn't matter because in the next second, Charles throws his arms around him and hugs him so tightly that he has trouble breathing for a moment.

His grip is so fierce that Erik suddenly understands how long Charles has been wanting to do this. Ever since that night at sea when they first met, that moment when Charles flung his arms around Erik and pulled him up from the dark water, he's wanted to touch him like that again, to grab him and hold him close, as if that could take away all his pain.

"I'm glad," Charles whispers, his voice muffled against Erik's shoulder.

And he surprises himself by whispering back, his own voice muffled by Charles practically squeezing all the air out of his lungs, "Me too."

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><p>I meant to update sooner, but I'm writing this during the High Holy Days, which are a very busy time of year for me.<p> 


	3. On the Balcony

This was my favorite scene in the movie. I definitely thought it deserved to be longer, hence this tag to it.

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>  
><strong>On the Balcony<strong>

_Children of the Maccabees, whether free or fettered,  
>Awake the echoes of their songs, where you may be scattered.<em>  
>- English translation of "Ma'oz Tzur," a traditional Hanukkah song<p>

"See that? Try turning it to face us."

Erik rests his hands on the cement railing around the balcony. The satellite dish is about half a mile away, across the grassy fields that stretch out behind the mansion. It's sitting still, of course, and the ground is level, which gives him a little advantage, but... it must weigh over a ton. Erik glances over his shoulder at Charles, to see if he's actually serious about this request. He is. His blue eyes are as steady and sure as Erik has ever seen them. So Erik turns back to the satellite dish, a bit nervous now, because he's never moved anything so heavy, and from such a distance. It almost feels like he's being set-up, like Charles expects him to fail.

_Maybe he does._ Erik doesn't really believe it, but that's what he tells himself. _Charles is supposed to be your friend, and he thinks you can't do it. _He repeats the words over and over in his head, because it's the quickest way to summon up the anger necessary to move the dish. Metal only obeys him when he's angry, and he'll have to be _very _angry to move something this heavy and far away.

The process feels as old as time itself to Erik. He doesn't even have to think about it anymore. He imagines the anger as a white-hot ball of fire at his center. It grows hotter and bigger, his skin warming as it spreads up into shoulders, then down into his arms. When he feels his fingers start to burn, he reaches his arms towards the satellite dish and flings out his hands.

A few seconds later, close to tears, he collapses on the balcony railing, panting and exhausted. Even in the sunlight, the cement is blessedly cool beneath his burning, throbbing head. White noise is loud in his ears, like a raging fire, and he clenches his teeth and struggles to catch his breath. Sometimes it's almost possible, once he gets himself worked up like this, to reign the anger back in. If he lets it get out of control here, now -

Charles's shoes make a soft sound on the cement, but somehow, it's loud enough to be heard over the thundering noise in Erik's head. His mind grows quieter, calmer as Charles steps closer to him, and when he speaks, that strange noise - the one that sounds like a raging fire - begins to die down.

"You know, I believe that true focus lies somewhere between rage... and serenity. Would you mind if I...?" Charles twirls his fingers close to his temple, as if to say _...poke around inside your head? Take a look at all your private, innermost thoughts?_

And without thinking, Erik nods.

Charles nods back at him and closes his eyes, and that's the last thing Erik sees before everything goes black.

It's as if a curtain has been drawn over the sun, throwing the whole world into this sudden, heavy darkness. Erik feels blindfolded, but before he can panic, a faint, flickering light appears out of the blackness just ahead of him. The light grows bigger and pulls him closer, but even when the scene is laid out right there in front of him, it takes him a moment to understand what he's seeing.

He recognizes his own face and his mother's immediately, of course, but the memory feels so long ago - like something from another life - and Erik has no idea exactly when it is. It was some Shabbat evening from this childhood. That's what he thinks at first, but then his mother's hand doesn't stop after lighting two candles. She keeps going, until there are seven small flames dancing gently on their wicks. Once the candles' orange glow is bright enough, Erik sees not the Shabbat candlesticks, but the many-branched candelbra. It was Hanukkah. He takes a slow, deep breath; the memory is suddenly so sharp and clear that he can almost smell the sweet, fresh challah bread.

For so many years now, he's only associated his past with pain. He had forgotten there had ever been peace and hapiness, love and faith, in his childhood. He had forgotten that it was even possible for fire to be calm and warm, not raging out of control. He's forgotten many things.

Erik would've lingered forever in the candlelight of his childhood, but Charles leads him back into the present he led him into the past a moment ago. It almost feels like he takes Erik's hand and pulls him back to the sunlit balcony. They come out of the darkness together, both of them slightly startled when they open their eyes to the warm, clear summer day and hear the birds chirping again. The bright light is harsh after the dim glow of the candles, and they blink like young children in the sun. Faint tremors run up and down Erik's arms, but for once, it isn't because he's angry. He doesn't quite understand what's just happened.

When their eyes readjust to daylight and focus on each other, they're startled again to see that they're both crying. Erik is so ashamed that he can barely meet Charles's eyes. This time, there isn't any water to wash the tears away. There's no way that Charles can pretend not to notice them.

Charles must notice them, he _has_ to, but he doesn't seem to. He simply says quietly, his voice almost in a whisper, "That was a very beautiful memory, Erik. Thank you."

"I didn't know I still had that," Erik answers. He isn't sure of what to say. He was only in that candelit memory of Hanukkah for a moment, and he doesn't understand why Charles would bother bringing it to the front of his mind for such a short time.

But a few seconds later, when Erik again stretches his arms out towards the satellite dish, it all makes sense. He's found it. The point between rage and serenity. He begins the same way he always does, flinging his hands out towards the metal he wants to manipulate, as if he's reaching to grab it. But after a moment, his way of thinking changes. He sees his outstretched hand turn inward, almost of its own accord.

He isn't trying to reach out for satellite dish. He never imagines himself reaching for the metal ever again. His hand turns, beckoning it, commanding. _I am the mutant. I am powerful. You come to me._

A few tears slip past his control again when the metal obeys him, and he fulfills Charles's request. Half a mile away, the two-ton satellite dish turns to face them on the balcony. Charles puts his hand on Erik's shoulder as they smile at each other. "Well done." Erik realizes then that Charles knew he could do it all along.

-x-

Years later, Erik sometimes looked back at that day and wondered if Charles regretted what he taught him. It saddened him to know that his old friend was probably sorry now that he had made Erik more powerful, that the old man in the wheelchair must look back at that day and shake his head over that brash, young telepath who had unleashed a monster.

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><p>I'm still pretty iffy about how this chapter turned out. I hope you'll leave a review telling me what you think, even if you hated it!<p> 


	4. In the Bedroom

**Author's Note:** I've read so many fanfictions dealing with Erik's nightmares. And I'm not complaining because most of them are _excellent_ fics. But I wanted to do something a little different, so in this chapter, it's _Charles_ who has the nightmares.

**Warning:** Although nothing graphic happens and I tried to keep it as subtle as possible, slash is hinted at in chapter. So if slash really isn't your thing, then you might want to skip it. All the other chapters are slash-free.

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><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>  
><strong>In the Bedroom<strong>

_"We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break the bonds of our affection."_  
>Abraham Lincoln<p>

It's as if a few months of knowing Charles has undone years of living by himself. They spent nights at hotels often while they were traveling to meet other mutants, and they always shared a room. Whatever cheapest room that the hotel had available with two beds. And even though they only spent a few weeks traveling around, Erik got so used to listening to Charles's quiet, even breathing at night that now...

He can still sleep alone, of course. He _can_ do it... but he simply _prefers_ not to, and since his and Charles's rooms are on the same floor of the mansion, just down the hall from each other...

Erik wonders if Charles is staying in the same bedroom that he lived in as a boy. Charles rarely ever mentions his mother or stepfather, and it makes Erik wonders if perhaps his childhood bedroom had memories in it that he wants to get away from - sorrow over his mother's death, dislike for his new stepfather, lonely homesickness for England. It's _his_ mansion, after all, and no one but Raven would know if Charles chose a new bedroom for himself.

They maintain separate bedrooms for appearance's sake, and they try to be as discreet as possible. If anyone has noticed - and Erik wonders sometimes if Moira doesn't suspect - they haven't said anything.

Every evening, Erik retires to his own room and waits until a late hour before slipping quietly down the hall. His feet make no noise on the thick carpet, and he has plenty of experience in silently turning doorknobs. The door to Charles's room is never locked, which surprised Erik the first time. He hasn't slept behind an unlocked door in a very long time. Not since he was a child. But Charles apparently does it every night.

Erik slips inside and closes the door behind him without touching it. He pulls off his light jacket - the leather one, the one he wears around the mansion if he's not in sweats or long sleeves - and throws it onto the chair beside the door. Charles already threw his jacket there earlier, and Erik pauses, smiling, at the sight of their two jackets lying there together, comfortable, the sleeves draping down haphazardly over the arms of the chair.

It's one more thing that Charles does but Erik doesn't. He never wears short sleeves, except rare sometimes when he and Charles are alone together. He wore that polo in Argentina, so the people he was tracking down could see his arm before he killed them. But even that had felt strange and uncomfortable, after keeping his arms covered for so long. It was like being naked in public. In front of Charles, though, it doesn't feel strange. Probably because Charles already knows all about the number on his arm and its horrific origins.

_What do you know about me?_

_Everything._

It was never the invasion of privacy that bothered him as much as the pity in Charles's voice when he said it. He doesn't want pity, not from Charles or anyone else, which is why his arm stays hidden under long sleeves and jackets. Once, Sean burst in on them when they were playing chess in the study, wanting to ask Charles something. Erik was in short sleeves with his bare forearm extended over the chess board, moving a bishop to capture Charles's rook, and he quickly drew his arm in against his body, which immediately struck him as too panicked. Charles was calm, but Erik saw him track the motion with eyes before he turned his mind to Sean and made sure he hadn't seen anything that Erik didn't want him to.

Charles's bedroom is dark and cool and quiet - no more so than Erik's room down the hall, but somehow, the night always seems stiller and heavier in here. Charles doesn't say a word, but Erik can tell that he's still awake from the way he slides over in bed to make room. They don't talk about it. They never do. They barely even touch each other. Charles's bed is big enough to allow plenty of room for both of them. Charles inches closer after Erik is settled in beneath the blankets, but just close enough for Erik to feel his warm breath on his skin. They simply lie side by side until sleep claims them, breathing in and out, happy to be sharing the same dark, quiet space, the same cool air.

Then Charles smiles because, just before Erik drifts off to sleep, he hears the metallic click of the door locking. Soon, he's asleep too.

It's always much worse in his dreams than it was in real life. That should be enough to tell him that he's dreaming, but it isn't. Almost every night, he's pulled into the same nightmare, desperate and panicked because he always thinks that it's real.

The water is colder, rougher, and darker. He can barely make out the outline of Erik's body in front of him, black against the ghostly light from Shaw's submarine. Charles tries to swim towards him, but the fierce current pushes him away, while his heavy, wet clothes seem determined to drag him down. Still, he kicks desperately, stretching out his hand... _Please,_ he prays to whoever might be listening, _come on, please..._ But Erik's fingers slip through his, and he disappears, pulled away by the suction from the submarine. And Charles wants to go after him, but his lungs feel ready to burst, and God, if he could just get another breath -

The rush of air to his lungs startles him when he jerks awake, sitting up in bed, gasping.

He checks himself quickly, remembering just in time that Erik is there and that he doesn't want to wake him. His cheeks and pillowcase are damp with tears, and Charles hastily wipes them away. His body slowly relaxes as he takes deep gulps of the cool air, and once his breathing has gone back to normal, he turns and looks at Erik, close beside him in bed, still asleep.

Usually, people don't show up in Charles's dreams until he's known them for a while. But since they first met, Erik has been a regular. It's always the same: a replay of that night in the water, except that Erik never lives. Never. Every time, their fingers slip through each other's, and Charles watches Erik drown in front of him.

Erik is sound asleep, his face quiet and peaceful in the moonlight, his body warm and still beside Charles. Charles props himself up on one elbow to get a better look at him. There's no trace of the angry, distraught man he found in the water that night. The first night that they stayed at a hotel, Charles was hesitant to share a room with Erik, certain that he would wake up screaming from a nightmare at some ungodly hour. But he didn't, not that first night or any of the ones that followed. Charles soon stopped waiting for it. Erik apparently doesn't have nightmares. Charles supposes that maybe he's seen too much for nightmares, but for the life of him, he can't understand how a man who's been through what Erik's been through can sleep so soundly every night.

Charles carefully scoots closer, so that his chest lightly brushes Erik's back. He lays one arm over him, reaching across his body until his hand lands against Erik's bare wrist, just above the dark blue numbers on his arm. His heartbeat thrums softly beneath Charles's fingers, lulling his worried mind. Erik is right here. He didn't drown in the water. He's okay. He'll be okay. Five minutes later, Charles is asleep again.

In the morning, there are no tracks of tears on Charles's face, no hint of redness in his eyes, no sign at all that he woke up crying in the night. Charles still has one arm lying across Erik, but neither of them say anything when they wake up in that position.


	5. On the Beach

**Chapter 5**  
><strong>On the Beach<strong>

_But the children of Israel will not listen to you._ - The Book of Ezekiel, 3:7

"Erik, take my hand!"

Charles doesn't leave his spot beside the hatch in the bottom of the jet, even when Riptide's winds begin to blow it about like a balloon in a hurricane. His heart pounds and leaps up into his throat, practically choking him, because he's sure that their jet will be blown off course and smash into fiery smithereens on the beach. But Charles swallows hard, forcing down the fear, and leans further out into the winds. Erik is still out there, clinging to the wheel.

"Erik!" he screams again. "Erik! Take my hand!"

So much of it is the same, just like it was when they met, just like it still is in Charles's nightmares. He remembers it like it was yesterday - having to shout to make himself heard over the fierce wind, the ominously dark water beneath them, the cold fear in his heart that if Erik doesn't step back from the edge, he'll die, and he won't even care. Maybe this time, Charles won't be able to save him. Maybe this time, it will happen like it always does in his nightmares. Erik's fingers will slip through his, and Charles will watch him die...

He wants to weep with relief when Erik finally, _finally _grabs his outstretched hand and lets Charles pull him back inside the safety of the jet. Erik's grip is warm and strong in his, and soon, his heartbeat goes back to normal. He's okay. He'll be okay.

-x-

_"I'm sorry, Erik. But... I've seen what Shaw did to you. I've felt your agony."_

Even as the old Germain coin splits his head in two like a slow-motion bullet, and he screams himself hoarse with the pain - even then, he tries to make excuses for Erik. Perhaps Erik didn't know what he really meant when said those words, didn't understand that whenever Charles read a person's mind, he literally _felt_ their pain.

As soon as Shaw dies and Charles can take leave of his mind, the pain is suddenly gone - _thank God_ - leaving him with only a dull, aching throb, like a headache. But it isn't gone before he collapses on the beach, sobbing and shaking uncontrollably, his hands gripping his head tightly, as if to keep it from being torn in two. Tears fall like raindrops on the sand.

Those were some of the first words he ever said to Erik, and now he wonders why he even bothered. Erik wasn't listening to him. When he snatched the helmet off Shaw's head and put it on his own, Charles wondered if Erik had ever listened to him at all. Perhaps all that Erik ever heard was the anger burning inside him, urging him on, telling him to nearly kill the guards at the Russian compound, to turn innocent mutant kids into warriors, to slowly drill a coin through Shaw's skull.

Hands grip his shaking shoulders as someone kneels down beside him, and for a split-second, Charles's heart leaps up, sure that Erik has found him, that's he's come to apologize, to say that he's sorry, that he didn't know what he was doing.

But no... it isn't Erik who's found him. It's Moira. Erik is still inside Shaw's beached submarine, probably savoring the taste of revenge, and either doesn't know or doesn't care what he's just put Charles through. Charles can't be sure, since Erik is still wearing Shaw's helmet, to block his friend from reading his thoughts.

Moira tries to help him and asks him what's wrong, but he just shakes his head. He can't answer her because his voice would shake too much, like his hands and his shoulders and the rest of his body. He can't tell her, because he can barely understand it himself, that he isn't crying from the pain.

He's mourning.

-x-

Just a few minutes later, Erik sends another tiny piece of metal flying into his body. The single bullet to his spine doesn't hurt nearly as much, physically, as the coin drilled slowly through his head, but in every other way, it's a thousand times worse. Because even when Erik runs to him and draws the metal out with his hand, the pain doesn't disappear, and Charles knows that this time, the damage can't be undone. There's no coming back from this.

Erik snarls, "You... you did this" at Moira and begins to choke her with her own dog-tags, fulling intending to really kill her, right there in front of Charles and everyone else. Charles is so close to him, lying with head in Erik's lap, and it would be so easy for him to just reach up, push that helmet off Erik's head, and take over his mind - paralyze him, like he just did with Shaw. For a second, he almost does it. He's certainly angry enough.

But he doesn't. It's Erik, not Charles, who lets himself be controlled by his anger. And besides, his anger disappears as soon as Erik turns his head and looks down at him with more sadness in his eyes than Charles has ever seen.

His head still hurts, and the sunlight is so bright on the beach, reflecting off the water and the sand and the metal of their jet and Shaw's submarine. Charles is in the worst possible position for it, lying on his back, looking up at the sky. But even with the sunlight blinding him, he can see Erik's eyes as clearly as anything. His eyes are gray, like metal, like strong, unyielding steel that bends so easily to Erik's hand.

"I want you on my side. We're brothers, you and I. We want the same thing," he pleads, and Charles's anger disappears, leaving him with only a sad regret. Thankfully no one can read _his_ mind, or they would know that deep down, Charles wishes that they could be on the same side, too. But that's the only thing they both want, and it's not enough to save them.

"I'm sorry," he whispers back, never taking his blue eyes from Erik's gray ones. He genuinely is sorry. He knows that Erik knows that. "But we do not."

Charles is sure that because of the angle he's lying in, with his head in Erik's lap like this, he's the only one who can see the tears in his friend's eyes.

-x-

He stretches out his arm to Emma in the CIA holding cell, and when she puts her hand in his, he's startled by how cold her skin is. He understands that it's part of her mutation. Her skin is always cold to the touch. But when she puts his hand in hers, for the smallest moment, he feels the phantom touch of Charles's warm arms around him, trying to pull him up out of the dark water, trying to pull back from the edge.

He realizes then that it will always be that way between him and Charles. No matter what might happen, Charles is never going to give up on him. He'll never stop trying to save him.

**FIN**

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><p>Well, I really hope you all enjoyed it. Thank you all for reading, reviewing, favorting, or story-alerting my fic - it means so much to me!<p> 


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